Let the Dream Begin
by BelleRose
Summary: This is a tale of loss and gain. When Erik is left for dead on the streets of Paris, a young widow comes to his aid, blissfully unaware of his past. A story of hope, trust, and annoying relatives. Based mainly on the movie, rated T just in case.
1. Stranger in the Night

**Hello everybody! This is my first fanfic but I wanted to tell a little bit about myself. I'm 14 years old and incredibly obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera. The music, the movie, the book (I have yet to see the show). But anyways, I've been writing stories and poems for a while now. The main reason I wanted to do this was because I feel like I'm never critiqued properly. The main responses are, "Oh! That's so good," or, "I don't see anything wrong with it..." Now, I'm not saying I want you to bash me about anything and everything. But I'm aiming for good, developed characters and putting in the right amount of detail. I'm pretty sure I've got my plot where I want it. Please read and enjoy!**

**Chapter One:** Stranger in the Night

"Go now! Go now, and leave me!" cried Erik, urging Christine and Raoul to flee from the black labyrinth, his eternal hell.

The man, the supposed monster known simply as O.G., slumped into a chair. His strong hand gently stroked the side of the barrel monkey shaped music box that he treasured so much. Tears streamed from his eyes, one that was hideously distorted and the other perfectly normal. A faint smile came across his face as he wound the box and soft music played.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade… Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you…" The last few words were barely audible, but Erik could hear the irony in them. The world had found him. Not only that, it had come crashing down on him.

Footsteps echoed throughout the dimly lit corridors of his home. He looked up to see Christine's lovely, perfect face. A face that was so vastly different from his own, the one he had killed for. From which a voice so angelic and pure emerged. Why had she come back?

False hope filled Erik's heart and mind. But when he saw a pang of guilt appear like a flash of light in her eyes, his fondest desire vanished. All he could manage to get out was, "Christine, I love you…" The words flowed tenderly from his lips.

She stepped towards him, not afraid, not disgusted, but with a sad, sweet smile. On her finger was the dazzling diamond ring he'd given her only moments ago. She gently pulled it off and placed it into Erik's own hand. Her large, gazing brown eyes stared into his for a brief moment, trying to convey the message that she truly did love him, and always would. Christine turned and walked to Raoul who was awaiting her in the gondola that Erik had given them to escape the underground lake. The young man helped the girl's slender figure onto the vessel and began the journey back to daylight.

As Erik watched them depart from him forever. He murmured, "You alone can make my song take flight… It's over now, the music of the night!"

And upon the last word he seized a golden candleholder. With every bit of anger and pain that coursed throughout his body, he smashed the mirrors that adorned the walls of his abode. Cries of discovery came from above. The mob had at last discovered the beast responsible for all their miseries.

Erik's mind raced. He usually was able to complete a plan of action in mere seconds. But since his brain was muddled with other thoughts, he struggled for several moments trying to decide what to do. _Should I let them find me? _He wondered. _What is the point of my existence now? _His angel was betrothed to the Viscount, just as she had wanted. Erik vowed to himself he would never love another like Christine again. How could he? _It would be impossible_…

As the pack of intruders armed with pistols, pitchforks, and anything that could serve as a weapon, drew near, Erik once again donned the white, half-mask that had become almost a part of his anatomy and stood ready to exit through the secret path hidden behind the largest of his mirrors. Glancing behind him, Erik couldn't help but take a minute to get the smallest bit of pleasure watching the crowd's reaction to his residence. Stunned by the lair's strange décor, the party seemed to be lost in a state of pure awe before remembering who they had come for. Facing them, Erik raised his hands as a sign that he was not going to do anything.

"Please, messieurs, I mean you no harm."

Some people in the group scoffed at this. They returned his plea with a glare that was all too familiar to him. Walking closer to the cluster, hands still raised, he stood upon one of the many trapdoors that served as an escape from the cavern. Erik knew he wouldn't leave his lair alive if he showed his back to this bunch. A deathly silence hung in the air. Without a sound, one man raised his pistol and shot.

A woman screamed as Erik's body crumpled in a heap and fell through the door. His face hit the cold, hard ground and he picked himself up with great difficulty. The man had shot him in the left shoulder, blood now pouring from the wound. _Why couldn't he have just shot me in the heart?_ Erik thought bitterly. _It's not like I would have felt it…_

He staggered through a passageway to a door that led to the outside world. The world that helped him resent all of mankind. Well, all of it but her… his angel. His shoulder began bleeding faster now. Erik stumbled in this dazed state for a few moments, finally collapsing on a sidewalk on the dark streets of Paris.

xXx

Michelle Moreaux rounded a corner of a cobblestone sidewalk, eyes scanning the horizon of the empty streets. _What time is it? _She wondered. She'd left home at10:00 this evening, it had to be at least one o'clock in the morning. Her nightly walks could last hours and hours before she returned home. She had always loved the night, preferring it over daylight with a strange passion. As far as she knew, she'd been like this since for as long as she could remember, since she had been a mere child. Her mother had died when she was four years of age, at sunrise. That sunrise always burned in her mind and was a lasting imprint upon her heart. Her mother's smile as it faded, and her eyes closed forever, the sun had taken her mother's life with it into the sky.

Michelle had hardly kept in touch with her father since he remarried, almost eleven years after the death of his wife, when Michelle was fifteen-years-old. The woman he'd married, a fat Spanish heiress to a prospering wine vineyard, would often make rude comments about Michelle's appearance. Her dazzling blue eyes that were too big, her eyebrows too dark (which was not in style, apparently), anything that seemed even slightly wrong was critiqued by the woman.

It was quite darker out now than when Michelle had left her home that evening, so she quickened her pace. The dim streetlights cast eerie shadows across the pavement, but she loved them, somehow. They were like friends that kept watch over her during these nocturnal escapades. Michelle looked onward and saw a figure in the distance. Thinking it was a dog that might be injured she walked closer. Soon she realized that the heap was a man entangled in his cloak.

"He is probably a drunk," She muttered as she stepped over him. But something was odd about the way he was laying. Michelle bent down and pulled back the cloak. He did not smell of alcohol. As she tugged at the garment, one side of his face appeared. It was ghostly white. To her shock Michelle saw it was a mask.

Still curious as to the man's condition, Michelle pushed the mysterious figure onto his back. As she did so, she felt something wet on her fingers. Raising her hand to the moonlight, the woman saw to her horror that it was blood.

"Oh my God, monsieur? Monsieur, can you hear me?

No answer came from the man, he had black out.


	2. A Peculiar Guest

**Christy Day: Wow! Thank you! I'll try to update regularly!**

**I started writing this when the summer vacation started. So it's really convenient to just read from my notebook and make any changes, ha ha. Ok, I'm done. Oh yeah,this site is more confusing than I thought.. Is it just me or does it not let you put in tabs? Well, I'm new to this so I just want to make it clear that I meant to put in a tab at the beginning of each paragraph.**

**Chapter Two:** A Peculiar Guest

Michelle looked around frantically, desperate to find help. But not a soul could be found at this hour. Although her common sense nagged at her relentlessly for doing so, she tried to carry the man on her back. He was much larger than her, but she was a strong woman and managed to carry Erik's torso while his long legs trailed behind.

The journey home had taken much time and effort on Michelle's part. She was exhausted but knew she couldn't have left the man bleeding all night. Gently, she laid him on the bed in the guest room upstairs. Feeling extraordinarily rude, but knowing it was for the stranger's own good, she took off his dirtied cloak, silk vest, and shirt so she could clean the wound. As she worked, Michelle's mind began to think up wild stories as to how the man got to this state.

_Maybe he returned home one evening to find his wife with another man who shot him in a duel… Perhaps he's an outlaw that had been cornered by the police as he fled town…_

Whatever he was, Michelle felt a strange obligation to help him. After finishing, she found a shirt worn by her late husband from the bureau. Luckily it fit Erik perfectly. He stirred some as she buttoned the vest. She gazed down on him with curious eyes. _Oh how he looks so much like Luc! _She thought to herself.

Luc André and Michelle had wed when they were teenagers. Like Erik, Luc was tall and thin. But Luc's hair, instead of being straight like Erik's (she was not aware that it was a wig), had been a mass of thick, brown curls. But Michelle frowned looking at the mask resting on Erik's face. The stranger's features seemed hardened, while her husband's were soft and playful. Tragically, Luc died of pneumonia only a year after their marriage. Rumors were spread throughout her family and friends that she'd married Luc only for his money. The André family had become very successful in the junk business, or as Luc's uncle would always state, "Scrap metal."

When Luc died, Michelle received enough money for her to live comfortably for many years. She continued to live in the small home she and her husband had purchased shortly after their wedding.

Now, three years a later, a twenty-year-old Michelle looked in the mirror of her room and saw not a happy young lady like in her wedding pictures, but a tired, worn-out woman. Dark circles were under her blue eyes that still sparkled and laugh lines from long ago were located at the corners of her mouth. She had always been quite pretty, but she had never been the same whimsical creature she was known to be after Luc's sudden illness.

She brushed out her wavy locks of hair that could never deicide whether they were brown or black, washed her face, and retired for the evening. During her slumber, she thought she'd heard the man in the room next to hers start weeping. But Michelle slept hard, for it had been an interesting night.

xXx

Refreshed, Michelle awoke early the next morning, made a small breakfast for herself, and went to check on this peculiar man. Erik was still sound-asleep, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. She tiptoed over to the bed in an attempt to wake him.

"Monsieur? Monsieur you must wake up. You need to eat something."

The eye surrounded by the mask opened, then the other.

"Christine?" He mumbled with a confused expression.

"No, monsieur. My name is Michelle. Michelle Moreaux." She responded with a worried look in her eyes. _Who is Christine?_

Slowly, Erik realized he was no longer underneath the opera house. Where had he gone last night? He recalled being shot and wandering drunkenly around the streets. His hand flew to the hurt left shoulder. There were bandages; he could feel them through his shirt. Odd. This wasn't his shirt. Erik bolted up suddenly and saw a woman sitting in a chair next to him.

"Please eat monsieur." Michelle held up a bowl of steaming soup and a small piece of bread.

His mind flooded with questions, he began to ask, "Where am I? What am I doing here? What happened?" He was immensely bewildered, for he always preferred to know every detail about his circumstances. Just because he was in the dark literally, didn't mean he wanted to be in it figuratively.

"We are at my home just outside of Paris, monsieur. I happened to discover you last night while I was out walking. You were terribly hurt, so I brought you home," Michelle smiled gently, hoping to gain his trust.

Erik rose from the bed, grabbed his cloak and put it on in one swift movement, then attempted to leave the room. Michelle stopped him at the door, much to her own surprise. It wasn't like her to be so stubborn but she wasn't going to just let the man leave. Arms crossed, her face looked slightly unsure about what she was doing.

"Monsieur, get back in bed. You must rest," her voice came out stronger than she expected.

Thrown off by the woman's reaction, Erik looked at her with a hint of amusement. It was a rare occurrence for someone to stand up to him like this. He was slightly annoyed though, and it showed in his voice.

"Mademoiselle, I thank you for your kindness, but I must leave."

"I do not care," She replied, trying to believe her own voice, "Let me check your shoulder."

Michelle proceeded to undo his vest and change the dirtied bandages as Erik stood dumbfounded. He struggled a little at first, finally just giving up and allowed Michelle to help. Her delicate fingers worked quickly, so Erik took this opportunity to study his surroundings. The room was decorated very simply. There was a bed against one wall, with a cedar chest at its foot. A large window on another with a plush seat for guests to relax on. Opposite the bed was a dresser with a large mirror on it. Along with the mirror, there lay a framed photograph with Michelle and another man smiling lovingly at each other. Erik concluded that it must be her husband.

What astonished him the most was how the woman was not startled by his masked face? Surely there aren't men walking the streets of Paris with half their face covered up, are there?

"Finished, monsieur. Now get back in bed." She handed him the meal and sat back down in the chair.

_She's not giving me much of a choice now, is she? _He thought. _I might as well do as she requests. _He was still embarrassed that a woman was giving him orders. _I have no intention of return to my opera house at the moment…_

Suddenly the events of last night surged into his mind and seared into his heart. Christine, his angel, was gone. She was never coming back. Her days would end with Raoul, the man who really could give her everything she ever wanted. Not him. No. His only gift to her was his music and never-ending love, but she had refused those, hadn't she? How he remembered their kiss! His first and most likely his last. It was the Angel's Kiss that had finally freed him. Tears began to well in his eyes.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Michelle asked in a soft, curious voice, "If you do not mind, monsieur, could you please tell me your name?" Her eyes stared in wonderment.

"Erik. My name is simply Erik, mademoiselle," Came his gruff answer.

"Hello Erik, my name is Michelle Moreaux as you know. Well, Moreaux is my maiden name. May I also ask as to why I found you last night?" She sensed that he was hiding something, but her voice was playful, almost like she was talking to a child which irritated Erik.

"It was nothing, an accident," He turned his head to face her and found himself looking straight into her eyes. They were the brightest blue he'd ever seen. On any other being, those blue eyes and dark eyebrows would have looked out of place, but on Michelle, they looked rather ideal for her.

Trying to change the subject, he gestured toward the photo on the dresser, "I hope your husband does not mind my staying here."

The young lady's eyes fell to the floor. Her voice full of sorrow, "Do not worry, Erik. My husband, Luc, has been dead for three years. If he were alive today, believe me, he would have been the one talking me into letting you stay here. He was so good to me and others."

Now humiliated by his question, Erik quickly apologized for his mistake.

"You need not apologize, monsieur. Many people are shocked to learn that I am a widow at such a young age. Now, please rest."

And with that she stood from the chair and exited the room. Erik realized he was feeling extraordinarily tired and within seconds, he had drifted off to sleep. He dreamt about Christine, she was everywhere it seemed. She had left Raoul to come be with him. Erik held her close, with his face buried into her graceful, white neck, their hands intertwined. But Raoul came from out of nowhere, and kidnapped poor Christine, taking her away from his life yet again.

"No!" Erik moaned into the quietness of the room.


	3. True Identity

**VagrantCandy: **Thanks for the suggestion! I think I did put in separators in there, but for some reason they didn't show up... Hopefully you can see them now. I must admit that I was uncomfortable with how I chose Erik's responses. But this story is supposed to be about Erik trying to learn how he can trust society again. Like my mom says, "Well, he's obviously socially retarded!"

**Christy Day: **I'm glad you like it! I'll try to update as often as I can!

**Lady Kathrin: **Merci! Thank you so much!

I also forgot to put in a **disclaimer** for my first chapter, I didn't know if these were mandatory or something, well, here it is (I'll probably put it in chapter 1, one of these days but oh well…).

**  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Phantom of the Opera. The book, the movie, or the stage production. All I own are my characters which are the makings of my imagination. The credit for The Phantom of the Opera goes entirely to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Weber, along with many, many others that brought out the magic in it.**

**Chapter Three: **True Identity

Erik's exclamation echoed through the darkened room. He was covered in cold sweat that had soaked through his shirt, his mask unpleasantly covering condensation that was dripping between it and his misshapen skin. As he sat up to wipe the underside of the article, a sweet, heavenly sound drifted into his room from below. A voice. His mind foolishly thought that it was the only person who could possess such a talent, Christine. But the only inhabitants of the home were he and Michelle.

Slowly, the man crept downstairs like a thief and peered into the small living area, decorated with dozens of photos and portraits, a couch in one corner, and a forgotten piano in another. There she was. Painting on a vivid canvas with swirls of vibrant colored oils. The song was about love and loss, something Michelle would have no trouble relating to. Erik's eyes closed with pleasure, his ears taking in every note. A deep humming from his throat surfaced, with a beauty that mismatched his face. Caressing each word, tenderly.

At last, he emerged from his hiding spot and said to her, "You have a lovely voice."

Michelle jumped slightly, flushing a bright red. Her voice becoming very high-pitched with shock. "Oh, Erik! I didn't hear you come down! I could've sworn you were still sound-asleep! My, how you frightened me! You're like a phantom of sorts!"

Erik cringed at her last exclamation, and then frowned as an apology, but Michelle quickly waved it off and said in her normal tone, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude. I've gotten so used to this empty house I forgot I had a guest." She resumed her painting, but not singing, for Erik had thoroughly embarrassed her. Rain pelted at the windows outside without mercy. _When had the storm started?_ Erik wondered. It wouldn't impact his plans for the day, anyway.

The couch was calling him to sit down and rest, and he obeyed. Having been bedridden for only a day, Erik still felt very weak. Michelle's painting could easily be viewed from where he sat, so this suited him just fine. The canvas was filled from side to side with colors, forming the outline of a man. Luc, of course. Erik felt sympathetic towards the young lady; he knew what it was like to lose someone so close to the heart. His eyes traveled down the portrait, and also down Michelle. But this was out of mere curiosity. All he'd seen was her face. She wore a simple, emerald green dress that went nicely with her skin that happened to have a touch of an olive tone in it. Perhaps she had a Mediterranean ancestor? Her feet looked larger than most of the women's in Paris, but Erik took note that she was fairly tall, probably only an inch or so below him. She had braided her long hair to keep it out of her dazzling eyes as she worked.

When she was pleased with the portrait, Michelle turned to her guest and said, "It's almost time for our luncheon, are you hungry at all?"

Erik shook his head no and tried to again express his regret for scaring her, "I didn't mean to frighten you, mademoiselle. I do not wish to keep you from singing."

Michelle blushed a second time and replied, "Luc and I would always sing together, he had the most beautiful voice. When I was ill, he would stay by my bedside and sing lullabies to me…" She looked off into space with a dreamy expression.

He nodded with understanding, remembering his own duet with Christine that seemed like it had taken place many years ago.

"May I join you in a song?" He asked, hoping her answer would be yes. The piano was in desperate need of playing, so Erik sat down on the bench and cracked open the lid. The keys, dusty from years of neglect. His hands floated over them as he began to sing. Michelle listened intently, awestruck by how he managed to sing so sweetly and so sadly at the same time. Remembering that this was meant to be a short duet, she raised her own voice and the two combined quite harmoniously. After a short time, Erik concluded the piece and turned to see Michelle's response. Her eyes were closed, lips parted into a gentle smile. She was just… standing, almost trying to retrieve the sound once more. The young lady looked rather radiant in the sunbeams that were creeping into the room, too bad she wasn't fond of daytime.

"You sing very well," Erik said. It was uncommon for him to hand out compliments. The unfortunate managers who ran his opera house knew this all too well.

"Oh Erik, thank you. But you're voice is so… so beautiful!" Her eyes were wide open now, probing Erik's, trying to discover his secrets.

Instantly, their minds began to thrash. Erik knew what he was doing. He was making the same mistake he'd made with Christine all over again. No, he would never be denied again. Running a hand through his hair piece, Erik made his way back upstairs. Michelle went to the garden; neither said a word to each other for the rest of the day.

The next few days passed in a uniform manner. Erik only tried to leave once, but couldn't bring himself to use force on Michelle. He agreed to stay on three conditions. One was that the rooms were kept dark, like his former abode. Two was for Michelle to try and not disturb him if he was reading. He also asked for access to the piano. Secretly, Erik knew he could easily escape when Michelle went to bed, but the lady needed a companion, he thought. Three years and little contact with the outside world made one rather lonely, as Erik knew. He also thought that the Opera Populaire was not yet safe to return to, so why risk his neck again when someone was so willing to offer him living quarters?

That was what worried him the most. Michelle was obviously not aware of who, or what, he was. One night though, she finally gained the courage to ask him that dreadful question. She sat in the chair next to his bed, where he was reading the paper.

"Erik, I must know…" Her voice was quivering, "I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before… Well, not seen, but heard you, possibly. This must sound silly, but, who are you?"  
He sighed, a long, sad sigh that filled the room. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but after all of her hospitality, he knew that it was time. Rubbing his temples, he began, "Have you ever been to the opera, Michelle? More specifically, the one here in Paris?"

She was confused, but nodded and replied, "I've only been once. To see Il Muto, it was horrid. I don't think I could bear to return to that place after what happened…"

Erik's look was downcast, "So you heard a voice, I presume? A voice from the ceiling, it seemed as if it were whispering in your ear? But you had no idea what it meant, am I right?"

Michelle brushed a strand of hair from her face and pulled the shawl around her tighter; the room had grown icy cold. Trying to remember that night wasn't difficult…

xXx

"Michelle, hurry dear or we're going to be late!" Cried Camille, a slender blonde with large green eyes, one of Michelle's few remaining friends. She was dressed in an elegant white gown, her hair dripping with crystals.

"I'm coming, please just one more moment!" Michelle answered back, her voice sounding giddier than usual. How long had it been since she'd had a fun outing like this with her friend? The two had known each other since their childhood, before the death of Michelle's mother. At long last, she came down the stairs.

"Oh Michelle," Camille murmured in wonderment to her friend. She was wearing a soft blue dress that she hadn't worn in years. The layers of shiny, beautiful blue fabric and gauze made her look splendidly gorgeous.

They hugged when they saw each other and made their way to the carriage that was awaiting outside Michelle's quiet little villa. Camille took her almost-sister's hand in her own, and said, "You know Luc is proud of you. How you've stayed strong even when he wasn't by your side. He is smiling down on you from heaven, I just know it."

A single tear rolled down Michelle's cheek as she smiled, "Thank you Cami, I know it too." They rode in silence until they had at last arrived at the Opera Populaire. It was peculiar to see so many wealthy people, and those who pretended to be wealthy, in one place.

Camille insisted that if they were to go to the opera, then they must at least buy tickets to sit in one of the boxes overlooking the stage. This was no trouble at all, Luc's uncle, M. Gilles Andre, was always offering Michelle tickets. He, unlike some, had been happy for their marriage and Michelle was always grateful.

Once in their seats, the two young ladies talked until at last the curtain rose. The audience clapped politely as the production began. Having never seen an opera before, Michelle listened intently to the actors' singing.

All was going smoothly, until a voice from nowhere was heard, questioning, "Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

Camille started panicking, thinking that they had purchased Box Five for the evening; Michelle had to reassure her that Box Five had been sold to the Viscount de Chagny, as M. Andre had informed her. They happened to be seated in Box Three.

The voice said nothing more, and the play began again, audience and performers both uneasy. La Carlotta, the nasty Prima Donna of the stage, started to sing once more, but all that escaped her throat was a large, "Co-ack!"

Spectators roared with laughter as Carlotta ran off the stage. Michelle recognized Luc's uncle on the stage, along with his co-manager, M. Firmin.

"Ladies and gentlemen," M. Firmin began, "We apologize. The performance will continue in ten minutes time, when the role of the countess will be played by Miss Daae!" He brought forth a young girl with curly brown hair, looking quite confused about what was going on, "Thank you!" He finished.

"Meanwhile," Stuttered Andre, "We'd like to give you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera." And with that, the curtain rose again to reveal a cluster of ballerinas trying to make their way to center stage as the stagehands struggled to change the set. Once again things seemed to settle down and go as planned. Michelle and Camille looked at one another and smiled uncomfortably. Of all the nights they chose to go to the opera!

Then, it happened. The image was still crisp in Michelle's mind. A body came swinging down from the rafters, with noose secured tightly around its neck. The entire theatre was filled with screaming as the corpse of Joseph Buquet fell to the ground. A swish of capes could be heard, and that's all Michelle remembered. She and Camille had run as fast as they could from that place, never looking back, the people's cries of horror and outrage ringing in their ears.

xXx

She couldn't help but laugh, "Why does that matter, Erik? I don't understand."

His eyes were cold, "Because… I am the monster, the phantom, the ghost that haunted the halls of the opera." His words trailed off into space and sank into Michelle's mind. The man she had been caring for, who'd she'd opened her home to was a murderer. She couldn't believe her own thoughts. Never before had she felt more naïve. Camille often gossiped about strange happenings at the opera.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a knock on the front door. Well, it was more of a loud banging upon the door.

Her voice trembling, she whispered, "I'll get it."

Michelle hurried down the stairs and proceeded to open the door. A large, Spanish woman barged in followed by an equally large, French man. Her father and step-mother had decided to pay a visit.

xXx

**Poor Michelle! Things aren't looking too good, eh? Well, chapter four shall be up soon. Sorry, this chapter was a little longer than the others. Thanks for all the reviews you guys!**


	4. Back to the Shadows

**Vagrant Candy: **I see what you mean, and I am glad for your suggestions. You are right, I asked for it! Another reason I wanted people to review truthfully was because I need to learn to accept constructive criticism, for that's something I've always had issues with (who hasn't?). It is rather difficult because the phantom I see in my head is the suave, sexy, Gerry-phantom and he is just so darn hard to resist! lol! But I will try to slow it down, I don't want to give away too much of this chapter, though. ; )

**Chapter Four: **Back to the Shadows

"Excuse me, excuse me!" The lady bellowed as the couple shoved their way inside, "Jean and I are tired from our travels now let us sit!"  
Knowing she didn't have a choice, Michelle ushered them into the living area. Her portrait of Luc was now framed and hanging above the piano.

"Please pardon me for one moment," She said hastily, but her guests did not hear her for they had immediately started squabbling as their bottoms landed on the cushions of the sofa.

Erik was upstairs, looking out of the window at the starry, night sky. He turned as Michelle entered the dark room. Her voice was full of rage as she hissed at him, "Get out of my home, now. I can't believe what a fool I am. Leave at once, you monster! If you are not out by midnight, I will have the whole French army at my door!"

"You underestimate me, woman," Erik shot back with a smirk. "Fine, I promise you I will be gone before midnight." His voice remained low, with a deadly edge to it.

Michelle left to attend to her relatives, but she was not concerned about them at the moment. She felt betrayed, in a way denied. All she'd wanted was a friend, someone to talk to. But Erik was an imposter, only pretending to care so he could be guaranteed a safe place to hide from the authorities. Convincing herself this was for the best proved to be a difficult task.

xXx

Meanwhile, Erik began pacing up and down the room. _How dare she do this! _He thought. _I could choke the life out of her in a heartbeat…_After all, he'd been living in her home for several days, and had he caused her any harm? Any distress at all? None. He would be paying for his past the rest of his life, it seemed.

And as his hands drew near the rope he'd kept with him since that fateful night in the labyrinth, he yelled in frustration, banging clenched fists upon the dresser. What was he doing? Resorting to murder. Someone so loving, so talented as Michelle did not deserve to die. He remembered, grimly, Joseph Buquet's final moments. But that wretched man was always causing grief for the chorus girls. _Look what I've become._ Erik stared into the mirror with disgust. Why was he put on this earth? To suffer? That must be it, to live in endless pain.

Back downstairs, Michelle could hear Erik yelling, hoping that Jean and her step-mother, Raeka, wouldn't hear. Her father had once explained to Michelle that Raeka meant beautiful and unique in Spanish. However, one could clearly see the woman was anything but beautiful and unique. Her face was large and round, with small, piggish eyes. She wore too much make-up most of the time, and her large, sausage fingers were overflowing with expensive jewels that Jean had bought as presents. Raeka insisted that she must always have the latest fashions in Paris, but the garments were always too small for her, so they had to be specially made and fitted, costing many, many francs.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Michelle offered.

"I'm fine," Her father replied gruffly. Raeka shook her head in disgust. All the woman ever drank was fine wine.

Michelle decided she needed some wine for herself, but wasn't going to bother getting any for Raeka. The last thing she needed was her father and step-mother getting themselves drunk and staying past their welcome. Her brow furrowing as she poured the liquor, two pairs of eyes watched her every move.

"Why are there two plates on the table, dear?" Came Raeka's snake-like voice from the other room. _I cannot stand that dreadful woman! _Michelle thought furiously. _Always trying to stick her nose into everything!_

"Excuse me? I'm, afraid I don't understand…" She replied. Her back was turned to them. Michelle honestly hadn't a clue as to what she was talking about.

"Oh, but I think you do." Was Raeka's response. There was hint of triumph in her words, like she had discovered something of great importance.

Michelle's intense blue eyes caught sight of two china plates, located upon the dark, wood surface of the table. They were from her dinner with Erik (well, not exactly _with _him, for Erik chose to stay in the sanctuary of the little room), before she had learned of his disturbing past. Her stomach lurched; cold beads of sweat emerged on her forehead. She felt as though she would be sick.

Trying to control herself, the young woman answered, "Those are my luncheon and dinner plates. I have not had the opportunity to clean up yet."

"I see," Raeka said with a sneer, "Then maybe you should hire a maid, my dear. Since you are obviously not capable of cleaning up after yourself."

The plates trembled in Michelle's hands as she carried them to the kitchen. One slipped and fell to the floor, crashing into thousands of tiny blue and white pieces.

Instead of offering to help clean up the mess, her father yelled, "Be careful, child! You are always causing problems!" Raeka tried to stifle a giggle as Michelle wearily grabbed the broom and began sweeping.

"So who is he?" Raeka managed to speak through fits of laughter as the poor girl struggled in cleaning up the floor.

With her back beginning to cramp uncomfortably, Michelle forced out another reply, "What? I haven't a clue about this nonexistent guest you think I have."

Then everything seemed to happen at once. Raeka was through poking and prodding for an answer from her step-daughter. Jean had little effect in trying to assist his large wife. The room was instantly filled with shouts and accusations about this and that. The couple rose from the couch pointing fat fingers at Michelle claiming she had found herself a suitor, and demanded to know who he was. She was sobbing by now, through her tears she cried, "Father! What has become of you? Your heart has turned to stone!"

Jean stood slightly dumbfounded, with a stupid expression plastered all over his face. He wasn't sure what to say, but Michelle's exclamation had hit its mark. Raeka's eyes widened with shock. For a brief moment, there was no sound throughout the villa except a soft swish of a cape.

The young woman's complexion became snow white. _Surely they hadn't heard? _She hoped to herself. But the silence was broken a second time, as a sickening crack came from the outside, followed by a loud cursing. Jean, Raeka, and Michelle all rushed hurriedly to the site were Erik lay sprawled on the cold ground, his right leg bent grotesquely out of place. Raeka immediately ran back into the house, screaming bloody murder. Michelle got sick at the sight, covering herself in shame, not wanting her father to see her in such a state. Jean remained unnaturally calm. He bent over Erik, who was struggling to pull himself up. With a trembling hand, Michelle's father reached downward and plucked the mask off of Erik's face. Another cry was heard, but this one emerged from Jean's throat. In one quick movement, Erik's hand had shot up and clutched the older man's throat with an awesome might. Jean's eyes bulged unpleasantly as the other man replaced the mask upon his face.

Michelle shouted into the night with great anger and horror. She felt no pity for this beast who'd she'd opened her home to. Erik continued to squeeze Jean's throat, his grip becoming stronger with each passing second. Michelle ran into the house, returning with a pistol in her hand. Pointing it directly in between Erik's eyes, she whispered with a lethal tone, "Let him go, or I shoot."

Without looking at her, Erik released Jean, who immediately ran into the villa to find Raeka. Dragging himself up with great difficulty, Erik quietly said to her, "You hold the pistol that could end my life, but I can see you have no intention of firing." He smirked as Michelle's facial features became indignant. But he was right. She couldn't kill, even though her loathing of Erik had deepened immenselythis past night.

"You are correct, monsieur. I am letting you go. But be warned, I know that my father has already left to call the gendarmes upon you. That is certain." She replied with a grim expression.

And like that, Erik became nothing more but another shadow in the night.

xXx


End file.
